So, after thirteen years of being told that it was very likely that I might find myself childless, my parents had each given up the idea of being biological Grandparents. My Mom remarried almost two decades ago and she has a step-son that she helped to raise. I'm sure she thought that she would have to be ok with being a "Grandma" to his children. My father sort of adopted one of my best friends, and her children, as well as my Godson, all call my Dad "Grandpa", and mean it. He is the only Grandpa they have, and have ever known, and he is an amazing Grandfather to them all.
Then I turn 33 years old, and by that September I find that I am pregnant. That in and of itself is a little miraculous, and then 7 and a half weeks into my pregnancy its little heart stops beating and I had a miscarriage. Excrutiating. Seriously.
Suffice it to say, two months after my miscarriage I was pregnant again. I would not allow myself to get happy at first. Not for a long time, actually. Even after I started feeling him move around inside of me I still felt an unholy level of fear that I could lose him again. It was tough trying to be as positive as I could all the time because mostly I was usually really nervous. I turned 34 and was 6 months pregnant at the time and all I could say to myself that day was, "Okay, he's six months, God forbid anything happens and he has to come out, he should survive." Happy birthday to me, right?
Well, we all know the outcome -- Theodore the Great! Besides my joy at actually being a Mommy, my parent's joy at being Grandparents seems boundless. Theo is going to be spoiled (hopefully not rotten) by those two, whether I like it or not.
And why shouldn't he?